


Big Boots

by nogoaway



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AU, F/F, Post PFL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:39:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nogoaway/pseuds/nogoaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tex and South are what's left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Boots

The car rumbling down the dirt driveway was blaring the same Top 40 station that Tex had on inside. That was the only reason South could make out lyrics over the cough of the exhaust and the hiss of scree and dust under the tires. She sat up straight enough in her chair to see out the door; a composite 20th c. Studebaker, it looked like, vintage grill that gleamed too brightly in the afternoon sun to be anything other than real chrome. Interesting; maybe a collector come to negotiate one of her specials, but they usually commed first.

The Stude stalled out twenty yards from the garage with a miserable sounding, almost phlegmy clatter. South grimaced. Or maybe not. The driver's side door popped open, and a woman folded herself out of the car, her legs obscured by clouds of kicked-up dust. She was slight, with a flowy white sundress that reflected the light just as blindingly as the grill, and had on a wide-brimmed straw hat. She did not look like a vintage motorcycle collector. She looked like someone with engine trouble who had pulled into the only gasoline tune up shop for several hundred miles. Too bad it was a damn _car_. South had signs going down the highway in both directions for eight exits. 'Headlight Fluid Motorcycle Repair', they said, complete with a big ass picture of a motorcycle. You know, two wheels.

"It's like no one reads the fucking signs," South shouted, reaching back for her sweet tea. To her surprise, she hit cold glass too soon, and wrapped her hand around it reflexively. Tex set her palm on South's shoulder, leaning over her to see out the door.

"Topped off your drink," she said. "Another auto?"

"Another clueless chick," South grumbled, but sipped at the sweet tea. Ice fucking cold, with a kick of mint from the sprig tucked between the cubes. "I'll deal with it. Get back in the kitchen, mama."

Tex's hand tightened on her shoulder, cool and deadly. "Call me that again," she suggested. "See what happens." She stepped back, though, patting South lightly on the neck as she went. For Tex, that was a warning-- playful, but the blank pad of her index finger tapped right over South's carotid, inhumanly precise.

"Excuse me?" The straw hat leaned into the garage. She was even shorter up close; a bag dangled from one arm, and from here South could see her strappy sandals. Definitely clueless.

"We don't do cars," South shouted from the desk, and kicked her feet up for good measure. See? Sensible footwear. What did you want to bet the girl didn't even have an emergency kit in that showy restoration of hers? Fucking poverty tourists. "So, sucks to be you."

"Someone told me once that an engine is an engine," the girl said, crossing her arms. Her face was shadowed under the brim of the hat, but South could see her tight little mouth frowning, sleek flesh-tone lipstick and a chin pointed like a spade.

"Common misconception," South started, meaning to finish it with 'among dumbfucks', but there was a crash from behind her. She craned her head around to see Tex, tea splashed all down her coveralls, with the pitcher in bits at her feet.

"Someone needs an oiling," South joked, like she always did, but Tex reached back and had her piece out in a fraction of a second, which meant it was not a time for jokes.

South whipped her head back around to see their would-be customer with one hand in her bag, a pistol half-visible.

"Should have stuck to knives," Tex said, with a tone of voice South recognized only from distant memory at this point "you were never quick enough otherwise."

South blinked. The woman relaxed her hold, letting the bag, and the gun inside it, swing down from her elbow. She put both hands up, and very slowly tipped the hat until it slid off her head and settled back over her shoulders.

"C.T.," South realized, and finally set the glass down on the desk, over a stack of invoices. She wiped the condensation left on her hand onto the thigh of her jeans.

"It's Constance now," C.T. said, glancing over at her and smiling. She had on the same color eyeliner that South remembered her putting on in every bar bathroom they ever chatted in. "Connie to my friends."

"How?" Tex asked, stepping up next to South and then edging in front of her, just a little. She kept the pistol trained on C.T..

"Biofoam in the dropship's medical kit," Connie said, lowering her hands slowly. "I was lucky. After Jerry took my armor, he dumped the ship in orbit around Minister. I was able to crawl to the panel and send out a distress. Some salvage crewmen found me."

South had gotten stuck on the first part of that. "His name was Jerry? You cheated on me with a guy named _Jerry_?"

"I never slept with him," C.T. said, staring right at South. "I needed him to get out. I had to play a part."

"A spook to the bitter end," Tex said, and jerked the barrel at C.T.'s chest. "Prove it."

"I'm not here to hurt you," C.T. said, but reached to untie the back of the dress anyway, slipping the straps off. She had a black bra on underneath, but it was nowhere near enough to cover the massive scar that started just above her belly button and crossed over between her breasts onto her right shoulder. South swallowed. How many times had she seen that wound in nightmares? But there it was in front of her, pale with age and bloodless.

"Why not get it fixed?" Tex asked, but she lowered the gun so it aimed at C.T.'s knees rather than her head.

"I needed the reminder," C.T. said, and laced the dress back up slowly, seemingly unbothered about being half naked in an open garage in full view of the road. That was Connie though, South thought, and swallowed hard, remembering C.T. slipping out of their bunk to bring back post-coital snacks from the kitchen dressed only in South's button-down and maybe, if it wasn't too late at night, a pair of panties. "Can I come in?"

Tex slipped the gun back behind her belt, apparently satisfied for the moment that C.T. wasn't an immediate threat. "Leave it with South," she said.

C.T. clicked over to the desk with those dumb high-heeled sandals and leaned over far enough to give South a good view of her cleavage, as well as the scar.

"I didn't sleep with him," she repeated, her brow furrowed. She had the same haircut, but the sweep of bangs was pinned back with a bright yellow barrette shaped like a Black-Eyed Susan. South wanted to unclip it, to run her hands over C.T.'s face and brush that fall of hair behind her ear again, like she always had-- "have you really thought that, all this time?"

"The gun," Tex barked, and South looked up to see her glaring daggers at the both of them.

"Hey," South said, and took the pistol when C.T. offered it, unloading it automatically and dropping it in the drawer. The ammo went into her pocket, clinked against her penknife and a few spare creds. "No worries, mama."

"Oh," C.T. said, and stepped back. She was blushing. "I didn't-- are you two--"

"Fucking?" Tex asked, with a slight smirk that did nothing to defuse the glare. Just made her look more sinister, like she was going to kick your ass and would enjoy the hell out of the experience. "Sometimes. But it's more like we look out for each other." She paused, and South saw her swallow, a habit she'd picked up from South and television and movies over the years, one of those body language tells she'd learned to mimic so well that it wasn't mimicry anymore at all. "And you--"

"You stick together," C.T. interrupted, and adjusted the bag strap on her shoulder. "I understand."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"That's why you kept it," South blurted out, before she could think about it. It had just dropped into her head, fully formed. "That's your reminder."

"Yes," C.T. said, and quirked a smile at Tex, wry and a little bit sassy and fuck, South had _missed_ her-- "and to be fair, you did land me in a very unpleasant intensive care unit for a very long time, so can we call it even?"

"Why are you here, then?" Tex asked, shifting uncomfortably. That tea was probably sticking the coveralls to her legs; South idly considered licking it off. "If not for revenge?"

C.T. was close enough to South that she could see her swallow. Her neck was bare, no jewelry; C.T. had never worn jewelry. She didn't have any tattoos, either, and when South had commented on that the first time she had Connie fully naked (not, incidentally, the first time she'd had Connie), she'd taken South's chin in her hands and said, with her best James Bond voice 'No memorable characteristics. No identifying marks'. Then she'd laughed, like it was a joke.

"Tell me," Tex insisted, and stepped forward-- glass crunched under her feet, and South winced.

"You're bleeding," C.T. pointed out, but she said it like she was curious, more than concerned.

Tex just kept walking, until she was right in C.T.'s face. South noticed with some amusement that they were nearly the same height. Apparently she had a thing for short women.

"I'm gonna have to clean that up, aren't I?" She wondered.

"I don't know." C.T. had her hands out by her sides, palms open. "I don't know why I came, Allison. I just did."

"Well fuck _that_ ," South grumbled, and kicked at the desk. She had kind of hoped that, you know, Connie had realized she couldn't live without South or something, but no. It was always something else, wasn't it? No one ever crossed deserts just for South. It was always South and her brother, or South and the Team, or South and Expensive Stolen Military Property. That was why she was here, after all, with the other misfit toy. They'd both been stripped of everything valuable about them; nothing left but South and Tex.

Tex, who was staring into the horizon outside the garage like she'd had a motherboard malfunction, or maybe she was blinded by that chrome-plated-everything monstrosity.

"I understand," Tex said, finally, and held her hand out. C.T. took it; they didn't shake. Just stood there with hands clasped.

"I don't," South broke in, but they were having some kind of staring contest, some kind of silent conversation that was both literally and figuratively over her head "Translation, please?"

"We're the only ones left," Tex said, and let go of C.T.'s hand. Her palm landed on South's shoulder, and it was very tense, even worse than earlier. "Would you like to come in?"

"That depends," C.T. said, and swallowed again. She was trying not to look scared. South knew that look better than she'd like; Connie had worn it late at night, when South had thought she'd woke up from bad dreams. Maybe some of the time she had. "For the day, or?"

"Do you have a bag?" Tex asked, squeezing South's shoulder much too tightly. Like South was gonna leave? This was _her_ fucking house. Didn't she get any say in this?

But Tex's feet were bare and bloody, so South kept her mouth shut.

"In the car, yes."

"Then go get it."

Connie stood there for a moment, which South understood; it was never a good idea to turn your back on Tex. Especially unarmed. But she walked backwards a step and then pivoted, striding out towards the Stude.

"Her chest," South started, and then stopped, watching C.T. slip into the driver's side and pop the trunk from the dashboard. Jesus. That thing belonged in a museum.

"What about it?"

"It's not like you to be that sloppy," South pointed out.

"It should have been enough to disable her," Tex said shortly, with enough sharpness that South could tell she had thought on this subject many times over the years. "It was. If it hadn't been for her--" she tipped her head at South, like she was trying to be polite about it, but _really_.

South rolled her eyes. "Jerry," she finished, because she still wasn't quite over that.

"Right. And Carolina," Tex said _that_ name all in a rush, but South already knew it was a sore spot. Never seemed to scab over.

"Would have been a sure thing with a kill shot." That had been South's point. "So why take the risk?"

"It was scarcely a risk," Tex folded her arms across her chest, which at least gave South's shoulder a break. "But I thought it would be-- damaging. To team ethic. Especially yours."

"Oh please," South snorted "Like you gave a fuck about what I thought."

"I did." Tex shrugged.

"It had nothing to do with you wanting to bang her," South prodded. She wasn't really upset about it. Everyone had wanted to bang Connie. Connie was utterly bangable, and yeah, maybe South spread that around a little too much in the mess, how flexible her girlfriend was, the incredible things she could do with a knife and a blindfold.

"Well," Tex grinned at her. "Maybe a little."

"Some robot you are," South teased, and watched Tex's shoulders relax at the reminder, watched her whole body settle back into the posture she was used to seeing from Tex, cocky and confident and _home_. Safe.

Out in the lot, the card door slammed. Tex's hackles went back up in an instant.

"I'm gonna make us some dinner," she said "will you deal with her damn car?"

"It's hideous," South complained. "And I don't do cars." She's not going to mention the mess. She'll-- deal with it.

"It's an _engine_ ," Tex shot back.

"I start doing cars," South warned, "and every sport sedan enthusiast from here to El Paso is gonna be in here with a dipstick up their ass about how rough I treat their shitty Maserati--"

"Red beans or fish?" Tex asked.

"Red beans," South said. "She's vegetarian."

"I know." Tex vanished behind a lift, leaving dark prints on the concrete.

"What are you doing, T?" South wondered aloud. Then she craned her head back to shout. "Hey! Wash your feet before you step in my kitchen, ya hear?"

The door slammed.

"So," Connie said from the door, a duffel slung over one shoulder "You do know that Headlight Fluid isn't a real thing, right?"

"Show me your damn car," South grumbled, and slung her feet off the desk. "And tell me you have boots in there somewhere, this isn't Austin."

 

* * *

 

 

By the time South finished fixing C.T.'s exhaust leak, removing the clogged fuel filter (and then installing a better one because ugh, practically medieval), and changing her oil, the sun was just starting to set. C.T. watched it from the middle of the garage, staring out at the flat expanse of desert and only speaking when South asked her a question-- where she got the car ('a friend'), when she'd last had it looked at ('never'), if she really hadn't slept with Insurrectionist Named Jerry ('no, South'.)

Tex rang the dinner bell just as South was wiping her hands off on her jeans, and she waved C.T. through the door that kept the garage separate from the rest of the house.

"You're going to leave it open like that?" C.T. asked, turning to look behind them at the workshop, the desk, everything South had built over the last four years.

"Got cameras." South shrugged. She hardly ever turned them on. Anyone ballsy enough to steal from her and Tex deserved at least a ghost of a chance at getting away with it. "It's never been a problem. Kind of isolated out here, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Right," C.T. said, and followed South in silence into the kitchen, where Tex, in a new pair of coveralls, was ladling red beans from their dutch oven onto plates of rice. The whole room was full of steam from the rice cooker, but of course that wouldn't bother Tex. South shrugged past her and pushed open the back door to the yard, locking the screen instead; there was at least a little breeze, and clucking.

C.T. laughed in delight. "You have chickens!"

"Everyone around here's got chickens," Tex drawled, reaching over the counter to gather cups from the cupboard. "They aren't pets."

"Yeah, right." South grinned, leaned in towards C.T. like she was going to tell her a secret. "She's named them all."

"'Little Gray' and 'Little Red' aren't pet names," Tex protested, over the clatter of cutlery. "They're descriptive."

"Could have just gone with 'the red one and the gray one," C.T. pointed out, and South wanted to high five her, but it seemed inappropriate. She kept up the teasing instead.

"You should see her out there some mornings," South reached past Tex for the salt and pepper shakers, and Tex moved just far enough out of the way without being asked. "She thinks I'm asleep, but I hear her out there talking to them."

She expected Tex to shoot something back, but instead she just shrugged past South towards the table with plates balanced on both arms. It was just brusque enough that South couldn't tell if she was low-key pissed off like she always was, or medium-level pissy, which was also common but much more hazardous. Whatever. Tex would need to get over it, whatever it was. South was the one with Unexpected Ex for Dinner.

South pulled C.T.'s chair out for her, in some nostalgic fit of butch insanity. C.T. just blinked at her, so South plopped down in it rather than try and explain the chivalric code. C.T. pulled her own chair out, across from South, and sat down, crossing her ankles. Jesus. South had forgotten that she did that. Used to do it even in armor, if they were all in the mess grabbing lunch, and laughing--

C.T. stared at Tex when she sat down on South's right and grabbed a roll of bread off the plate.

"What?" Tex asked, and tore the roll in half. South passed her the butter dish without being asked.

"I've never seen you eat before," C.T. said, and took her own roll. Smelled it. Damn right, South baked that shit. "And when I found your file, I just assumed--"

Tex slathered butter onto one half of her roll-- the bread was so light inside that the slightest pressure molded it into the hard crust. A tiny little butter bowl, and South snorted. Oh, Tex could eat, all right.

"You assumed a lot of things," Tex said, and bit a hunk off the roll. Then she stood up, grabbed another one out of the bread basket, took a cold six pack from the fridge, and stomped out into the yard. The screen door clattered behind her, and there was enthusiastic clucking.

South dipped her bread into the bowl of red beans and started to eat. After a moment, C.T. did, too.

 

* * *

 

When South had washed the dishes (C.T. insisted on drying) and Tex still hadn't come back in, she set C.T. up with a beer in front of the television and walked out into the yard. It was mostly dark. Tex was sitting on the ground next to the feed bucket, tossing handfuls of corn to the chickens.

"They're gonna get fat," South warned.

"So? They _can_ get fat." Tex popped the cap on another beer with her hand, and held it out to South. They weren't twist-offs. "Might as well utilize it. We can eat them."

"You wanna tell me what your issue is?" South sat down next to her, stretching her legs out on the dust and gravel. She wasn't really expecting Tex to answer. The grey hen pecked curiously at her jeans before returning to the corn.

"She never saw me," Tex said. "I was just another part of the conspiracy. And when she found out the truth, I was just some dead woman, some victim." She laughed, short and bitter. "Not even that. A shadow."

South took a long swig of the beer. She reached over Tex to get a handful of corn, and the two white hens raced over to her, pecked insistently at her folded palm.

"I don't know why I care," Tex continued "it wasn't like we ever-- it shouldn't have mattered to me."

"But you wanted to," South said, scattering the corn in a line and watching the birds scramble to follow it like little feathered Ms. Pac-men.

"Yeah." Tex shrugged, sipped at her beer. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"Not really. Might have, once."

Tex laughed, a real laugh this time. "Yeah, 'might have'. I recall someone breaking my locker."

"I left bugs in your bunk before that," South admitted. "And when that did fuck all--"

"You did?" Tex elbowed her, lightly. "I didn't notice."

"The fuck was I supposed to know about your creepy robot skin?" South shoved her back, but Tex didn't so much as budge-- it was like trying to topple a statue. "But shit's past. Do you still want to?"

"Of course I--" Tex frowned. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"I thought you'd want me to leave. You know, take a walk, or something."

"And never see you again, probably. Yeah, no thanks." South tipped the beer in her direction. "You're all I've got, T."

The screen door creaked, and South turned to see C.T. on the wooden steps, one hand on the jamb. Her feet were bare. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I didn't know where you wanted me to put my things."

Tex stood up, which sent the chickens scattering across the yard. "There's a bed. It's that or the floor."

"The floor isn't a problem for me," C.T. said, slowly. "But I asked where _you_ wanted."

"Oh my god," South groaned, tipping her head back to shout at the darkening sky. " _Why_ is everything so fucking _cryptic_ with you?"

"You heard her," C.T. said, still hanging on the doorframe "I'm a spook."

"Okay, you know what?" South scrambled upright, and stomped over to the door. "Fuck this. C'mere." She stuck her hand out, and after a moment C.T. took it, still staring past South's shoulder at Tex. "It's wrangling time."

"South," Tex warned.

"Here's the deal," South said, and led them over with minimal resistance on C.T.'s part. "These ladies have to go back in the run before we go inside, or else hawks or coyotes will get 'em."

"She'll muss her dress," Tex said.

"Them's the breaks," South insisted, and gave C.T. a slight push towards Little Red on the right side of the yard, who gazed up at her in alarm. "She wants to stay, she helps with the birds. You too, mama."

"I don't-- oh!" Little Red scurried up to C.T., and pecked her aggressively on the instep before darting back. Then she rushed in again, and got her on the heel. "Hey! That hurts!"

"Little Red's the roo hen," South explained. "She'll bully you. Don't let her. I'll take point. T, get the whites in the left corner."

Tex stared at her, arms folded.

"Just trust me," South said. "I got this." Tex wanted C.T. to see her? Well, this was them. South paced back to cage Little Grey in with her heels, herding her towards the middle of the yard.

Tex turned to watch C.T., who was doing her best to keep the hen on the fence. It involved some hopping and strafing and the occasional yelp.

"Easier with three," South pointed out, and Tex sighed, caging the two largest hens into the corner. Together they'd formed a classic pincer, and South knew Connie had caught on when she laughed.

"On three?" She called, and leaned down to brush Red's head away from her legs.

"On three," Tex confirmed. "Run her towards the center."

South counted to three, and together they chased the hens in, Connie still laughing and Red squawking her head off in dumb panic; South came in last and funneled all four of them into the run, fastening the wire gate before Grey (always the smartest, though it didn't mean much) could figure out what was going on and make a break for it. The two whites kept on going right into the coop, but Red and Grey turned back to stare at her, heads bobbing with agitation.

"You're really dumb," South informed them. "I never would have fallen for that."

"Wow," Tex called. "You're smarter than the chickens. They have brains the size of pinto beans, you know."

"Bigger than yours," South shot back, spinning on her heel to see Connie with a tan spray of dust all up the front of her dress, and a stray feather clinging to the hem. She was smiling, and her hair had come loose from the clip. Tex was watching her, hands shoved into her pockets.

"Now what?" Connie asked.

"Now we go inside," South said. "And stop being fucking tense for no fucking reason. Or you two can punch it out, see if I care." She shrugged. "Just keep it in the yard, I'm too old for this shit."

"I--" Connie clenched one hand in the fabric of the dress.

"Do you need to punch it out?" South asked, in her best North voice.

"No," Connie said.

South looked over at Tex. Raised her eyebrows.

"Nah," Tex said. "Me neither."

"Fan-fucking-tastic." South leaned down to gather up their empties. "Then I'm gonna go to bed, because I've been up since 0530 and _someone_ made me weld an exhaust leak."

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, after South had showered and stripped and settled onto her side of the mattress, hair still damp, the bedroom door creaked open. She kept her eyes shut-- there were two sets of footsteps, and the bed dipped down in two places, one by her shoulder and the other, lighter, by her feet.

"How did you find us?" Tex asked, and South heard Connie sigh, heard a hand run over skin too smooth to be human.

"I looked for North first," she whispered, and South shut her eyes tighter, which made gritty sparks dance in the dark. "I figured he'd be easier to find, and she couldn't be far from him."

"Right," Tex said, just as softly. "Less savvy. That's what got him killed, you know."

"I figured." Connie shifted on the bed, and South heard a towel land on the floor. "It's a nice spot. Quiet. It suits him."

Tex snorted. "Wash picked it out. She didn't want anything to do with it."

Connie huffed out a short laugh. "I figured the poplars were his idea."

Silence after that for a long time, except for the sound of hands passing over skin, fabric rustling as they piled in under the single sheet. That back that pressed up against South's was warm, much warmer than she was used to.

"But yeah," Connie said finally, "Wash pointed me in the right direction. But I have a question for _you_."

Tex didn't answer right away, which was a bad sign. A quiet Tex was a Tex who was remembering, and it was never good memories, in South's experience.

"Is it a question about her snatch?" South asked, loudly enough that Connie jumped a little, and Tex snorted laughter. "Because yes, she has one, and yes, it's functional. Church was a pervert, but at least he could open an anatomy textbook."

"South," Tex warned, but she had a smile in her voice, now. Mission fucking accomplished.

"No," Connie said, and rolled onto her back. "That wasn't my question." She paused, licked her lips. "It is kind of a private question, though. I'm sorry; I thought you were asleep."

"The North thing?" South just shrugged. "I'm over it."

Connie eyed her sadly, and geez, time to change the subject, maybe something about chickens, or boobs, or--

Tex came to her rescue, as usual. "Private means both of us. So you may as well ask."

"Right," South agreed, and stretched out on her stomach, folding her arms under her chin and fixing her eyes on Connie in the near dark. "This is us. So, shoot."

Connie let out a long breath, and South realized with dismay that her hand was shaking where it lay in her lap. South reached over to take hold of it, but Tex was already there. She folded her hand over Tex's instead, cool and smooth and cabled under the skin.

"I meant to ask--" Connie swallowed. "At Longshore. After I left you the data-stick."

Tex's hand twitched, like she meant to pull away, and South pressed down. _Stick together,_ she thought, fiercely, as if she could beam it right into Tex's big dumb computer brain, _Stick together._

Connie shook against her side, and South could see her throat working in the low light, tendons stark and white against the dips where the shadows pooled. Her eyes were wet. She'd seen Connie cry before, but she'd forgotten what it felt like, to be so utterly helpless in the face of someone else's emotions. Tex wasn't very demonstrative that way, and South was shit at comforting people she cared about. That was her brother's job.

"No," Tex said, finally. "I hadn't viewed it yet."

"Oh," Connie breathed out, and a tear finally broke loose, skated down her cheek towards her ear. Tex's free hand came up, angled their faces together, and South watched them kiss, long and soft. Connie kept her eyes open, and when they drifted to South after some seconds South leaned in too, dropped a kiss on Connie's shoulder. She still smelled the same as she always had after a shower, like warmth and water and nothing distinctive at all.

Tex opened her eyes and pulled away. The ocular implants were glowing slightly, casting Connie in blue like she was looking at a datapad in the dark. South no longer found it eerie.

"I hadn't viewed them yet," Tex repeated. "But please don't call me 'Allison' ever again."

"Okay," Connie whispered. "I can do that."

"She's not Allison," South said, just for the sake of clarity. Because it was _kind_ of a big deal.

"No," Connie said, and brought her free hand up to Tex's cheek, ran it back to pull her hair out of the ponytail. It cascaded down one shoulder, black shining filaments that never split at the ends, never curled in the heat. "She's not."

They drifted off to the sound of crickets in the yard.

 

* * *

 

South dreamed that she was in the troop bay of a Pelican, a jetpack's fuel meter blinking bright on her HUD. Her brother was next to her, talking animatedly with Wash and Carolina off to the right. When Wash laughed, the bay shuddered, and a rattling noise echoed through the room.

"Gotta clean that clean those fuel rods, Flygirl," South shouted towards the cockpit, and Niner gave her the finger without bothering to tun around "Standard fucking maintenance!"

"South? Do me a favor and don't tell me how to do my job when you know fuck all about planes."

"An engine's an engine," South shot back, and nudged her other seatmate, the one on her left. "Right? Say, you're awfully quiet."

"Oh." Connie wasn't wearing a suit. She pushed her sunhat back onto her shoulders and smiled at South, smiled at the figure in the corner than was nothing more than an outline, a skeleton of wrongly refracted light and warped metal panes. "Just preparing myself, I guess."

"For what?" South laid a hand on her knee. With the plate glove it looked huge, powerful, like she could bruise Connie just by being close to her. "What's there to worry about?"

Connie tipped her head at the figure in the corner, and it nodded back, a ripple of air. "Nothing this time," she said, and laid her soft, thin hand over South's. "This time, I think we'll all be just fine."


End file.
